Page 17 of Stalker

I wondered what my monster would think about me playing with fire with my stalker from the internet like I was. Would he punish me if he was real?

Those toes could make you a lot of money selling feet pictures.

I took another sip of wine as his next message came in.

Those legs would look good on my shoulders.

I ignored his comments, because I couldn’t quite come to terms with why they excited me so much.

Your turn.

For what?

A picture. Or an answer to a question.

The cursor on the message thread blinked mockingly as more time passed with no reply from him, and I wondered if he spooked that easily. But then, an image popped up on my screen and I sat up straight and set my glass down so I could focus on the deliciousnesssent to me.

It was a photo of him leaned back in a massive office chair with an exuberant number of black computer screens behind him like an enormous wall of televisions. Each screen had back lighting, creating a kaleidoscope of different neon colors in the dark room. His phone must have been resting on something across from him because I could see his entire body down to his bare feet, yet the vibrant lighting behind him obscured his face and distinguishing features in shadow.

But what I could see—damn.

He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of black pants. And black ink everywhere but on his feet and hands from what I could see, and his body was magnificent.

And I was hooked.

Yet I wanted to see his face. I wanted to know what color my stalker’s eyes were. I wanted to know if he had a beard or was clean shaven.

He replied after that.

Where’s my compliment? I complimented your toes.

You don’t actually like my toes?

I teased instead of telling him just how sexy I thought he was. Something told me a man like him had an ego big enough for both of us. And besides, I wanted to play a little hard to get.

I’d suck your soul straight out of your toes before I moved up to the heaven between your thighs.

Fuck. Me.

The man was dangerous and had a mouth on him. Though it didn’t give me an ick like it would if most men spoke like him.

Now that I have you warmed up, answer my question from last night. Are you here looking for your hunter?

One more answer from you, then I’ll answer that. Why do you chase? What do you get out of it?

The darkness is the only place I feel sane. When I’m hunting for the fun of it, I feel in control of myself.

I hadn’t expected that answer, and I wasn’t sure it made me feel any more comfortable with him once I had it. Did it mean he was insane anytime he wasn’t chasing women? Was I really imagining him chasing me, with the end goal being to let him fuck me?

Yes. There was no denying that anymore. I wanted to try it. I needed to give the primal kink inside of me free rein to know if I was obsessed with it as I thought I was.

I’m here to find my hunter.

I think we both know you already have.

What happens now?

Now, you tell me how much control you want or don’t want in the chase. Now, you tell me how far you want to go. Now, you tell me how far to push you.

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